Facade Under A Lie
by Mika Yamichi
Summary: I was blank. Empty. Colorless. Then they filled my with color. The serial killer with red eyes painted me my identity. A color of red. The chocoholic painted me a reason. A color of brown. The gameboy painted me a personality. A color of yellow. The greatest detective in the world painted me my mind and intellect. Black. The white haired boy painted me feeling. White. NearXOC


A/ N I am extremely sorry about my absence. My laptop's hard drive was busted and my dad was trying to fix it but messed up my laptop. So I'm getting a better, faster laptop and for now have to use my old laptop. It works except there are keys missing so it's really hard to type and all. Oh plus, all my stories and work have be deleted since my hard drive was busted. So that causes a big problem for me since I had important things saved on my laptop.

Enough with my excuses, let's move on to the story. Thank you very, very much. I appreciate the reviews, story alerts, and favorites. I apologize for the rant and hope you enjoy this chapter.

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><p>Disclaimer:<p>

Me: Let me introduce, the very best detective himself, L.

L: 5 %

Me: Excuse me?

L: 5 % chance that you are Kira. First off, you know my identity and yet I do not recognize you. Your flattering may seem benign but you d-...

Me: Please stop with your intellectual talk before anyone won't be able to stop your ranting about theories that make no sense.

L: You lack the intelligence capacity to understand. But, to proceed to the reason why I am here. I will therefore state disclaiming rights. Mika-san has no rights over and does not own Death Note in any form or way. Only her Oc, Even

Me: Thanks...-.-

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><p><em>11 Years Old<em>

2 January_ - Only days of being at Wammy's House, I had felt like I had become a waxed candle. A melted candle which had lost it's spark and scent._

Thoughts seemed to leave my mind as I lied in a cocoon of sheets. On my bed, the pillows were fluffed and dry, the blankets were sprawled out like a thick coat of chocolate on a luxurious strawberry.

My eyes flickered up and down as if I as half asleep or for the fact, half-alive. My legs tight up against my chest, the bed sheets wrapped around me, and my hands hanging limply to the side, would have led anyone to believe I was preparing to die peacefully in my sleep. This was the position I had been in for the past week.

It had been exactly a week and two days since my arrival at Wammy's House and I hadn't said a **single** word. Not to a person, thing, or even to myself. And since Monday of December 24th, I had never left my room. Not even once.

An old man by the title of Roger Ruvie, had visited my dorm on the first day I was at the orphanage. He seemed to try persuade me into leaving my room but his words had no effect on me nor did the aged man think it would. I would not say he was crude or rude, but judging by his hesitance and grumbles when he tried to talk to me, he was not fond of children. I found it ironic he was working at an orphanage but kept my words to myself.

He seemed to explain scientifically how unhealthy it was for me to stay locked up in my room. Roger droned on about how not getting enough sunlight and food left me lacking the nutrients I needed for my body. Also about how I needed proper education away from my dorm and socialize with the children here. He spoke as if it held some importance but I seemed to be in a daze; eyes cloudy and distracted.

Roger seemed to give up from my lack of response and no longer visited me after a week. Meaning I stared continuously, as hours passed by, at the wooden across from my bed, impassively.

I was lifeless. I _felt_ lifeless. Emotions, feelings, thoughts left me in an empty body of nothingness.

In the dark dim room, I seemed like a ghost. My eyes were clouded and puffy, though I did not remember at all crying over the past days. I even had dark bags under my eyes from sleep deprivation and it took all of my energy to even walk, more a less, to move a finger.

I felt trapped. I felt locked in a room I could never leave. Almost as if I was a docile creature locked in a cage just wanting to explode in raw rage and anger. But, I knew I had the choice of leaving this room and doing just something. Anything to show I was still alive. But I felt so unable to leave, unable to make the decision. I was weak, mentally and physically. I was broken, not sure how to react to anything anymore. I was emotionless and thoughtless. I was an empty shell and I was numb.

Pointless was how everything was. And I spent minutes, hours, days left to stare at the door of my room that no longer open, no longer opened my path to reality, it was just the cage that kept me separated from the world.

Suddenly, a knock on my door appeared, and slowly, I slipped out of bed. Dragging the sheets behind me in a mess, I twisted the door knob to reveal a tray of supper, fancy and neat. The silver tray held a tall, glass cup filled with some type of dark berry juice, a triangular folded cloth, a silver spork and knife, and a bowl of seafood hotpot, with a side of rice. A light, delicate strawberry crème slice of cake stood graciously tall on a small white plate. It also had a dark, blood red apple that rolled on it's side by the slice of cake.

Together the meal looked delicious and wonderful. It was exquisite. All my favorites in one meal as usual. From Wammy's House, anyone would have thought it would be a regular orphanage filled with small snotty, homeless brats but in reality, we were genius orphans who were spoiled and treated as geniuses should be.

Chefs were the finest and could make _anything _and_ everything. _Teachers were highly intelligent and could teach _anything_ and_ everything_. Even the maids and janitor of the orphanage were swift and the greatest.

Watari, from what I knew, was an inventor and somehow rich. He had built this orphanage from scratch, back when L himself had become the greatest detective in the world. And Watari wanted to build a home for gifted children like me, to strive and live. He wanted us to keep acting like children and keep our childhood innocence but wanted to show us that we were special; not outcasts of world-class society. So, he provided us with everything and anything we needed-or wanted- to help guide us to overtaking L and help out general society grow, with our knowledge.

This I learned merely by listening to kids who walked by my door with the latest gossip, story, secrets, and events. People my age-no matter how intelligent- never could shut our mouths and I just so happened to have had the decency to listen to what other people had to say.

But, staring at my food didn't cause a single reaction as usual and I carried it with precise care back to my bed. Somehow I ate my food impassively, when honestly I knew I should have reacted more somehow.

After what seemed like hours of chewing and drinking, I wiped my mouth with the white cloth and folded it properly. I placed it on the tray as I slid the silver platter under my door.

I knew the person who usually brought me food and took it back, was around my age when I had heard her voice yesterday. It had that high-pitched sound to it- that commonly young kids had- with a slight heavy tone. But I didn't know who this person was but I never bothered to care.

Even so, for some reason the numb feeling inside me lessened as I planned to wait by the door for the person who brought me food. I decided to open the door once I heard her walk back to pick up the tray.

For three minutes all I heard was silence, but a sudden rustling sound was heard outside. Surprisingly, with much force, I opened the door to see who the person was.

In two seconds flat the person had already started fleeing towards the west wing of the orphanage. The person was fast but I was able to catch a glimpse of a blond, slight brown hair with black pants and long-sleeved, black shirt. From that, I deducted that the person wasn't actually a _she _but a _he._

Stepping forward, I was prepared to chase after him in curiosity but a quick emotionless mask replaced my face as I noticed where my feet were.

I froze. Froze like a statue. My stoic shell that surrounded me cracked. I was two steps in front of the door and out of my room. The first time out of my dorm in nine days.

I don't remember how long I stood there, barefoot in shock, frozen like the dead. But after what seemed to be hours, my legs started to shake. Slowly, almost cautiously, I walked back to my bed and felt my eyes drop considerable.

For the first time in nine days I slept. For the first time in nine days, I had stepped out of my room. For the first time in nine days, I showed emotion; shock.

It had meant nothing at all. But in a sense, it meant everything.

Notice: I'm looking for a good beta-reader for my story and was wondering if you, my readers, had any recommendation or wouldn't mind beta-reading for this story.

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><p>AN I'm very sorry for the short chapter and once I get my new laptop, I'll post regularly with longer chapters.


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